


In The Beginning

by Bastet5



Series: The Wild Hunt [2]
Category: FBI: Most Wanted (TV 2020)
Genre: Beginnings, Case Fic, Corruption, Gangs, Gen, Incompetent Bosses, Internal Monologue, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5/pseuds/Bastet5
Summary: February 2015One moment, one meeting, one assignment can change the course of a life.Detailed by her unit chief without her knowledge, FBI Agent Kateri Wood of Organized Crime thinks her life can't get any more complicated ... or worse.Then she meet her new temporary team and her new temporary boss ... Jess LaCroix.Maybe getting detailed won't be as bad as Kateri thinks it will.
Relationships: Kateri Wood (OFC) & Billy Suarez (OMC)
Series: The Wild Hunt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678864
Comments: 26
Kudos: 10





	In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> If all goes according to plan with my move, I'll be able to post the first chapter of Reveille on August 12.

Life-changing events have a way of sneaking up on you unexpectedly.

And sometimes a single moment can change the course of a life.

The first day of what would be the rest of Kateri’s life began like most any other, though the day did not start out well. _But that just seems to be a facet of my life these days._ The Organized Crime agent’s obnoxious alarm echoed through her small bedroom at 6am on the dot, and an exhausted looking Kateri emerged from beneath a mound of blankets. Her hair was mussed, and there were deep bags under her eyes. _The consequences of two all-nighter already within the last week, and only five hours of sleep last night_. She almost looked ill.

The day kept getting better and better from there on. Slowly and with a tired sigh, Kateri shoved the covers aside and sat up. After switching on a lamp, she reached for the first of the three phones that lay in a row on the small bedside table within arm’s length of the bed.

_More email, more texts, and missed calls._

_Bloody h**l._

_And it’s only 6 bloody am._

_Think Thomas would miss me if I stayed in bed?_ Mark Thomas was her current partner within her unit in Organized Crime, and the two made no secret of how much they disliked each other. _And we don’t even cordially dislike each other._

_And, yea, bloody h**l, he would._

_And he’d find a way to roust me out of bed if by no other means than calling me time after time after time after BLOODY time, and I wouldn’t hear the end of it for a month_.

_Best to get moving. You’ve got to go to that drop later, anyway._

_The sooner you get the day moving, the sooner it’ll be over._

_I need a vacation_

With another tired sigh, Kateri dragged herself out of bed and began dressing for the day, shivering at the chill in the air inside her room. New York was in the midst of a cold snap, even for February. The temperatures had not even hit freezing in nearly a week, and at nights the lows were in the 20s or teens or, _worse_ , single digits. _And lucky me, I get to spend my days wandering the city_. That day, it wasn’t even supposed to hit 30 degrees. _Double lucky me, and it might even snow_. _Sometimes I hate my life_.

As she trotted quietly down the old creaky steps to the main floor, Kateri noticed that the rest of the house was about as chilly as Kateri’s bedroom on the third floor. Kateri rented a bedroom in the row house that her landlady, Angela Velázquez, owned. It was cheaper than trying to pay for a stinky apartment, and Kateri was less likely to come home to disasters. _And Mrs. Velázquez is nicer to deal with than the average super in this part of town_. That the entire house was kinda chilly, not just the often a little drafty top floor, probably meant that Mrs. Velázquez’s bills were tight that month. _Cost of living in New York is insane_. _Utterly insane_.

The rest of the house was quiet, too. Mrs. Velázquez had probably already left for work, and the other three borders did not keep hours anywhere near Kateri’s and Mrs. Velázquez. _Which doesn’t bother me. I get peace and quiet, and all I have to do is be a little extra careful as I get ready to go_.

Being quiet and not drawing attention to herself was an ingrained habit anyway by now.

Breakfast was a quiet and quick affair. It did not take that long to eat a bagel and a granola bar and make tea to go. One quick trip back upstairs later to grab the backpack that Kateri had forgotten to grab in her mental fog on her first trip downstairs, and it was time to go to work.

_If I must_.

_Hope the bus is on time._

_It’s too bloody cold to stand outside too long._

* * *

One long, cold bus ride— _of all bloody mornings for the bloody heater to be on the bloody fritz_ —from University Heights later, Kateri reached FBI Headquarters in Manhattan, and by 7:45am, she was riding the elevator up to the floor that the Organized Crime Division in the NYC Field Office occupied. Even at the comparatively early hour, things were bustling, people heading hither and thither quickly, cups of coffee in hand, preparing for morning meetings and a long day’s work. _Organized Crime never sleeps, ‘cause the mob and the gangs don’t sleep either. Ugh._ With a glance at that catwalk and raised offices that lined the outer edge of the floor— _good, the boss isn’t here yet_ —Kateri threaded her way through the crowd and maze of cubicles toward her desk.

_Bloody h**l, Thomas is here already_.

_Of course, he is. So much for a little peace._

Kateri’s unit was one of many that made up the whole of the NYC Organized Crime Division. Each unit chief had an office, while everyone else was crammed into cubicles.[1] ( _Our analysts and techs are elsewhere, even though things would work easier if they were more quickly reachable. Phones don’t always cut it. Or emails._ ) Kateri’s desk was recognizable for its total lack of personal effects. Aside from her computer and desk phone, the only thing on her desk was a stack of paperwork that seemed to have grown under its own power overnight.

_Thomassss, if you’re foisting your half off on me again, I’ll …_ Kateri cut herself off before she could start imagining what she might wish she could do to her partner but never would or could.

Mark Thomas, her partner himself, sat one desk over, his head bent over his computer. He was a tall, thin man with dark hair and watery blue eyes. No one would have ever claimed that Thomas had won the genetic lottery by any stretch of the imagination, and Kateri privately thought that her partner had the look of a weasel … _and the personality of one, too_. Partners, they were in name, but personally and professionally, the two could not stand each other and preferred to do as little as possible together.

_Usually safer for me anyway_ …. More than one case of their had gone bad in the past, and Kateri had nearly paid the price more than once … … _not that our clashes help keep either of us safer in the field_.

_He’s not totally at fault_. _Mutual dislike ... hatred? ... does not good field work make_.

Kateri preferred her own company as a general matter, and Thomas was not a people-person, nor was he good with people. Data and patterns were his thing, and he was very good at what he did— _I can’t stand him, and even I know that_ —though Kateri wasn’t of the opinion that he had the temperament to be an analyst either. When they were out in the field together— _and the fewer times that happens the_ better—Kateri usually ended up doing most of the talking with Thomas usually hovering nearby and occasionally inserting comments or muttering comments under his breath … _if he thinks I’m not doing it right_.

Thomas looked up as Kateri entered their unit’s cubicle and took a seat at her desk. “You’re late,” he declared somewhat pompously.

_For what?_ Was her first thought.

_Bloody h**l_. Was her second thought.

“For what?” Kateri asked skeptically, “It’s not even eight bloody am in the morning. How am I late?”

“Your meeting with Wilkinson at a quarter past?” Thomas replied, raising an eyebrow, voice dry. _How did you manage to get your condescending look down to an art form_?

Supervisory Special Agent Victor Wilkinson was the unit chief of the team. His main skills, in Kateri’s opinion, were (A) family and (B) connections, which the pencil pushers valued … _because it gets us negotiating paper_. His actual capability compared to his years of experience were, _also in my opinion_ , lacking. His listening skills were also lacking, _as exemplified by every single stinkin’ time I come to him with concerns about this bloody unit_. _Not that going over his head has worked either._

“What meeting?” Kateri asked, as a feeling of dread started to take hold in her stomach, “I don’t have a meeting with him. I’d remember a meeting with my own boss.”

_Nothin’s been added to my calendar._

_No email. No text. No nothin’._

_I’ve gotten no word from him_.

The condescending look just got even stronger if that were possible. “Then perhaps we should be concerned about your fitness for field duty,” Thomas drawled, “because you didn’t. Wilkinson came raging through here twenty minutes ago looking for you. Said you had missed your meeting with him.”

_I don’t have one with him!!!!!!!_

Kateri bit her lip until she tasted blood, counted to ten in English and then in French. “I don’t have a meeting with Wilkinson,” she bit out, “not that anyone ever told me about. What did Wilkinson want?”

_He’s here? His light’s off._

Thomas raised his hands with an affronted look on his face, “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. And how should I know? The meeting was with you, not me, Wood. Did you check your calendar and your email?”

_I will not even dignify the last with a response, because of bloody course I bloody did._

_Some days, I really hate you_.

_Just some days?_

Kateri sighed heavily and finished getting her computer booted up so that she could start on what office tasks she had time for that morning, “Where is he? I’ll go see what he needs.”

Thomas turned back to his computer and the papers spread across his desk, “In an important meeting with the other unit chiefs. It’ll be awhile.”

_Of course, it bloody will_.

The problem was that Kateri would probably have to get prepared and leave for her pickup with one of her contacts ( _he’s doing the drop, not me, thankfully, or I’d have more prep work_ ) before Wilkinson returned. _Because those type of meetings really do take a while usually_. _Bureaucrats and pencil pushers._ It would be past lunch time before she returned. _Over six hours late for a meeting? He’s going to chew me up one side and down the other._

_I hope whatever he needs isn’t time-sensitive._

_If it is, he could have done a better job getting me the info._

_How in all the bloody blue blazes was I supposed to know I had a meeting when no one texted me, called me, emailed me, or put it on my calendar????_

A thought suddenly occurred to Kateri, and her jaw tightened. She counted to ten again in English, then in French, and finally in Mohawk for good measure.

_Thomas, if you were supposed to tell me and forgot and now you’re covering your own rear, I’m going to …_

_Not productive, as fun as it would be._

_Get your own work done, and keep your head down_.

Kateri opened her email again and sighed heavily yet again to see the list of waiting emails. Between her lack of enough sleep the previous night, this news about her missed meeting, so much paperwork and emails to catch up, Kateri just wanted to crawl back in bed and pull the covers up over her head.

_Sometimes I hate my life._

_I need a vacation._

_Or a transfer ... but to what where? This is all I know. This is where all my contacts are._

_Or a new job._

The problem would be, without the FBI and a steady, if not anywhere near abundant, income, what then?

_Whistleblower?_ _That’d get me blackballed. Then what would I do? Bank account's not that large._

_Could go back to the reservation sooner rather than later._

_Getting through the day sounds like a good goal right now._

Kateri sighed heavily and propped her head up on one chin, opening the first of the emails marked urgent or important.

_I am not paid enough for this job_.

* * *

Three less-than-pleasant hours of paperwork and emails later, Kateri shut down her computer and rose from her chair, stretching out the kinks that had taken up residence in her lower back. _Time to get out of here_. Her unit was between major cases at the moment, _which is why we’re stuck indoors with all this paperwork_ , but Kateri ,as the one who pulled the main-weight actually going undercover, still had small things here and there to attend to— _like the drop soon_ —and also had a solo mission to leave for the next day. _Already finished the prep work for that. Just gotta get through today_.

_Just gotta get through today_. That seemed to be the refrain of her life semi-frequently these days.

Grabbing her jacket and her backpack, Kateri left the team’s cubicle without a word. She and Thomas were still the only ones there even though it was almost eleven AM. Where Watson, the team’s other field agent, was, Kateri had no clue.

_Not that I’m really sorry to not have to deal with him._

_Bloody big mouth_. _Can’t stand him._

Kateri took the elevator down to the floor where the analysts and computer techs who didn’t have desks upstairs in JOC or with their own outside units were stuck. She threaded her way through a maze of hallways until she entered one medium-size office with only two occupants who barely had room for themselves in the space piled high with computer equipment and other supplies.

“Morning,” Kateri greeted the two, stopping on the threshold of the door. She had learned through experience to not set foot inside unless she had to for, at least, two reasons.

_Make that three reasons._

_So (1) I don’t get in the way when there’s so bloody little room, (2) I don’t step on something because the floor ends up holding stuff the shelves and tables don’t have room for, and (3) I don’t have a panic attack because the walls start to close in_.

The only man in the room, a short but solidly built Hispanic man, looked up from the computer he was bent over. Miguel Garcia was one of Kateri’s team’s two techs/analysts. He was responsible for backstopping the undercover aliases that Zoey, the other tech, created for Kateri. He and Zoey were also the only people on her team that Kateri actually liked and got along with.

“Buenos días!” Miguel replied, flashing the undercover agent a smile, “How are you?”

“Just bloody great,” Kateri replied, “I missed a meeting with the boss that no one told me about.”

Zoey Armstrong, a tall, lanky red-head, raised dark-rimmed eyes from her own computer. _You’re doing your best impersonation of a racoon again._ _Did you get any sleep last night?_ “How can you miss a meeting if no one told you about it?” She asked puzzled, one eyebrow crawling its ways toward her hairline.

“Good question. Because it’s Wilkinson probably works for an answer.”

There were rolled eyes and grumbles at that. Wilkinson was half-decent as a person to some people but largely incompetent as a boss and a manager and not well liked by any who had the misfortunate to work under him. He had a terrible habit of expecting miracles and heroics out of his underlings while at the exact same time not giving them the support/stuff they needed to pull off said miracles and heroics successfully.

_And when it goes bad, want to guess who gets blamed?_

_Not his lily white behind._

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard any rumors about this mysterious mystery meeting?”

Both Zoey and Miguel shook their heads. “No, sorry,” they said in unison.

_Figured_.

“Thought I’d ask just in case,” Kateri replied with a frown and a shrug, “It was nice knowing you both. Think the boss might kill me.” Her voice was resigned.

“He can’t. The whole team would fall apart without you,” Miguel countered vigorously.

Zoey nodded just as vigorously. “Your cases have the highest success-closure rating, I think, in the whole section. The boss doesn’t dare lose you. You covering our collective a***s is the whole reason the unit hasn’t gone belly up.”

_Not sure that’s totally the case, but …_

_Some days you_ _two are the only reasons I’ve not asked for a transfer_.

Kateri gave a half-rueful, half-sad smile, “Thanks. That means a lot. Anything I need to know before I head off to meet with my contact?”

Both shook their heads.

“Go, shoo,” Miguel replied with accompanying hand motions toward the door, “Get some fresh air and a break from the idiocy. Don’t freeze, though.”

* * *

An hour-and-a-half later Kateri was back in the Bronx, sitting outside a small diner in Port Morris, sipping on a cup of coffee from a nearby Starbucks. Her hands were buried in the depth of her pockets. _It’s too bloody cold to be sitting outside,_ but what one of her jumpy contacts wanted for a drop, that jumpy contact usually got. A dark beanie was pulled low over her ears, and she periodically reached up to adjust a couple of strands of slightly greasy hair that kept wanting to go where she did not want them to go. Her nose was red with cold, and she sniffled slightly.

Kateri kept her head on an unobtrusive swivel as she waited. She always came early to meets like this. These meets were planned well in advance, but things could happen even at the last minute that would necessitate calling a meet off. Port Morris was also disputed territory gang-wise. Both the Brigadiers (rivals of the Underground Crew) and the Blackrock Boys (allies of the Underground Crew) claimed the areas as their own.

_And I’d prefer to be seen by neither. I want an unexciting morning_.

The Blackrock Boys probably knew her face since she was ‘friends’ with Billy Suarez, the leader of the notorious Underground Crew, and was often seen around Crew territory. However, the Boys did not know her true identity as an FBI agent like Billy— _and probably most of the Crew_ —did, and considering the undercover work she did in NYC, being identified as FBI by known gang members outside the Crew … _at best, it would be the end of my career, probably. At worst, I’d be dead in short order, I’d expect_.

The drop went off without a hitch.

It was what came after that was problematic.

Kateri slowly finished her coffee after her contact disappeared down the street and only then rose unhurriedly to her feet. _Better to go see what Lopez needs in such a hurry. Then drop the ‘stick off at HQ for the techs to go over. Then I’ll get some lunch. Then back to paperwork, a pox on the stuff_. A text had come in from one of her contacts, Lopez, who owned a store across the river in Manhattan asking for a meet out of the blue. Since she was leaving town the next morning, Kateri needed to find out today what he needed and what was going on.

Kateri was slowly making her way down the street at an unhurried pace, head bent against the cold and the brisk wind. _Got a little time to kill before the bus comes_. Suddenly, the hairs on the stood on end, and she noticed in the reflection of a glass storefront that two people appeared to be following her.

_Half a block behind._

_Bloody h**l_.

Kateri hadn’t gotten a good look at them in only the split second she had but didn’t not recognize either of them off the top of her head, not that with cold-weather clothing on much of their faces was visible at a distance.

_Bloody h**l._

_So much for this going off without a hitch._

_You spoke too bloody soon_.

_Don’t look like gang thugs._ There were two of them. One man and one woman. _Small mercies._

Despite the unease that filled her in an instant, Kateri continued walking down the street at an unhurried pace, only taking a more winding path toward the bus stop, and still the two continued to follow her about half a block behind. The last thing she wanted to do was let on that she knew she was being tailed.

_They’re staying back for now. Gives you time to plan_.

Kateri shifted her empty coffee cup to her right hand, leaving her left hand free to go for her Glock if at all necessary. _So convenient to not be right-handed like most of the population_. The weight of the small knife hidden in a forearm sheath on her right arm reminded Kateri of its presence, a last resort. _Too small for a fighting knife._

When Kateri got within eyesight of the bus stop, empty for now at almost 1pm, she pitched her coffee-cup and leaned against a wall next to a nearby store-front, pulling her phone from her pocket to check the schedule for the bus route, a schedule which she had long ago memorized.

_For show_.

The two tailing her continued to close the gap slowly, not even slowing or stopping now that Kateri herself had paused and was half-turned towards them … _where I can see you!_

It was surprisingly brazen for a pair of tails.

Which did nothing to alleviate the unease that curled in Kateri’s gut.

_Not a lot of people around. Some within shouting distance._

_Less witnesses means people might be more likely to cause trouble._

_Ah, knew this day would be fun when I dragged myself out of bed._

Kateri let her left hand drop down out of sight to her side and ostensibly kept her gaze fixed on her phone, even though she was counting off the distance between herself and the closing pair. Only watching them out of her peripheral vision, Kateri couldn’t get a good look at them but was able to make a few conclusions. There was one man, maybe Hispanic, and one woman, Black. Both were taller than Kateri herself, and both were well-dressed for street thugs.

_Still suspicious_ _when you’ve been tailing me for blocks_.

The two tails drew ever closer slowly and slowly.

_Bus won’t be here for another ten minutes._

_There’re both taller than I am, which probably means longer legs, and in this cold, I wouldn’t hold a candle for my chances of bolting._

_If somethin’s going to happen, better on the ground of my choosing_.

The two drew ever closer. _Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce: le Seigneur est avec vous; vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous, pauvres pécheurs, maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort. Amen_. It took only moments for Kateri to run through the prayer quickly.

The two drew ever closer. Less than fifteen feet separated them from Kateri now. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and let her hand slip under her jacket.

_In for a penny, in for a pound_.

What happened next shocked Kateri more than a confrontation would have, replacing the unease and dread coiling in her belly with burning anger. The two drew level with her and, thankfully covertly, flashed FBI badges on their belts.

“Agent Wood,” the Black woman began.

_Bloody h**l!_

_Not here!!!!_

_Not here!!!!_

Internally, Kateri was swearing a blue streak in three languages in a fit of swearing that she rarely ever devolved into and one that _I really will have to confess on Sunday,_ but that seemed appropriate to the fast-evolving SNAFU of a situation. She glanced around quickly, praying no one else had heard the appellation. She recognized more than a few of the Brigadiers and the Boys on sight and saw no sight of any of them. _Thank bloody h**l!_

With a forced smile on her face, Kateri let her gaze drift around the area again, all the while saying softly in a forced-level tone at a pitch that wouldn’t carry beyond the three of them, “Are you trying to get me killed?”

The two agents’ eyes went wide in an instant.

“What?” The woman exclaimed, only matching Kateri’s pitch at the last second, “We were told this was a safe place to meet.”

_Told by whom … if you really are FBI._ There were a limited number of people in the building outside her own section whose faces Kateri recognized, and badges could be faked.

_Because nobody told me about this …_

_Oh …_

_…_

_Bloody h**l._

_My meeting with Wilkinson_.

_I’ve got a bad bloody feeling_.

_A very bad feeling._

“It is not,” Kateri replied, “Give me your number. I’ll send you a message.”

The man, who looked more Native American than Hispanic at close range … _wonder what tribe_ , pulled a small notebook from an inside pocket of his greatcoat, quickly scrawled out a phone number, and handed off the ripped-out page to Kateri.

Kateri took the page and stuffed it into her coat pocket. “I’ll text you.”

* * *

_As if my day couldn’t get any worse or more complicated_ , Kateri gripped to herself as the bus crossed from the Bronx back into Upper Manhattan. _Sometimes I really hate my life and my job_. She studied the phone number the man had given her. No names had been given on their part, not that _I gave them much time to do so. No guarantee they’d be real_. The phone number was a local number, Kateri could tell that from the area code, but it was not a number she recognized. _Get Miguel or Zoey to check it out when I get back to HQ_.

Her contact Lopez, who had sent her a message asking for a meet, owned a small Mexican restaurant in Upper Manhattan. He fed her tacos while he expounded … at length … on the reason that he had asked to see her, which proved to be a lot less urgent or time-sensitive than Kateri had believed they might be. The chance to sit down an eat real food—not wolf down a cheap hamburger—and warm up had been good, and her instinctive rush of anger after earlier had dimmed slightly to be replaced by concern about the whole situation and a touch of long-suffering resignation.

_Yet another example of the incompetency of my unit_.

_Probably_. The whole situation could be unrelated, she acknowledged. _Don’t let your anger lead you to the wrong conclusions._

Kateri got back to HQ about 2:15, thoroughly sick of being outside and taking buses back and forth across New York all day. She dropped the ‘stick off with the right computer techs and then headed back toward the small, crowded office where her two teammates worked.

The office was empty.

The coffee cups on their desks still felt warm to the touch when Kateri brushed her hand against them, and their computers were still humming with power.

_They’ve not been gone long._

_Back soon? No idea._

Kateri bit her lip, hesitating on what to do next. She waited for a few minutes to see if her teammates returned, but when they did not, she finally headed back out. _Better not make those two wait any longer than necessary_.

It was a short walk from HQ to the Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall Subway Station where she could pick up a bus that would take her back to the Bronx. As she walked, Kateri input the number she had been given into her work phone and sent a quick text, *Claremont Park, Bronx. Near the basketball court. 3:30pm.*

_I’ve got a feeling they’re legit, and this is somehow connected to my mystery meeting, but …_

_Just in case …_

_This’ll be on my turf until I know what the h**l is going on_.

* * *

Claremont Park, as anyone who spent much time (A) in the Bronx or (B) in the FBI or NYPD gang units knew, was a known gathering point for gang members and was located within the stronghold of the Underground Crew’s territory in the West Bronx. Billy Suarez and his Crew were notorious and legendary within local gang units, and most cops or feds would not have dared to do what Kateri was about to do: have a meeting as a Fed with other Feds right next to the basketball court where the Crew played basketball daily whatever the weather.

_I’m not most people._

_And most people didn’t grow up with Billy Suarez either_.

Kateri’s relationship with Billy Suarez was extremely complicated and had been for more than a decade. On one hand, Billy was a notorious gang boss. On the other hand, he was her childhood friend, her protector, a constant in her life for good or for ill, who these days fed her information where possible on other rival gangs. _Our relationship is like a giant roller coaster. Ups and downs for years_. As Kateri’s relationship with her unit had soured, the two had mended fences somewhat. _And for now we’re on an upswing_.

Despite the fact that it wasn’t even 30 degrees outside, a fast-paced game of basketball was ongoing when Kateri arrived at Claremont Park and took a seat on the stone steps that led down to Clay Avenue. Her meeting wasn’t set for another fifteen or twenty minutes, which meant she unfortunately had some time to kill … _it’s hard to get anywhere in New York exactly on time. Either early or late …_ and time to case the place … in case there were others watching besides Crew. Nearly getting offed in a Rolling Sixes hit only months earlier had only upped her wariness in the field.

“Afternoon, Kit-Kat,” an accented voice greeted her fondly within minutes after she sat down on the steps, “You lookin’ for me?”

Kateri looked up. Exhausted and lost in thought, she hadn’t been paying as much attention to her surroundings as she needed to and hadn’t noticed her old friend’s approach. _Crew territory or not, you need to pay more attention. Remember the Sixes?_ For a moment her scar ached. _You’re safe here … thought that a couple months ago, too … Need to pay more attention._

Billy Suarez was a tall Hispanic man, not that much older than Kateri herself in actual years, though he looked some years older, consequences of a hard life. A deep scar bisected the left side of his face, giving him a very severe appearance, and he was dressed in only a flannel shirt and jeans despite the weather.

_How are you not half-frozen?_

Kateri shrugged, “Kinda, not really.”

_Wasn’t looking for you, but since you’re here anyway …_

Billy shot her a puzzled look and nudged her feet aside gently so he had room to sit down on the steps beside her. “Explain!” After a second, he tacked on, "Please."

“I didn’t come here to talk to you specifically,” Kateri clarified, “but since you’re here anyway, I suppose you should know I’m heading out of town tomorrow. Might be gone a while. Don’t know,” she finished with a shrug.

_No idea how long this thing in Buffalo’ll take_.

_At least I’ll get a break from the morons._

“The boys will keep an eye out for your place,” Billy gave a perfunctory nod, as if it was the most normal thing in the world that gang members would be watching a federal agent’s place … with a hit NOT in the works. “What are you doing here then anyway? Don’t you have packing to do or something?”

_That’s mostly done. Go-bag and duffle stay packed._

“That’s mostly done. I’ll finish tonight,” Kateri replied with a sigh, “Was down in Port Morris, and a couple of people who flashed FBI badges tried to talk to me. Needed a safe place to meet.”

_It should be ironic that I deem this a safe place!_

_Seems normal by this point in my life._

“Port Morris?” Billy released a colorful string of curses that were crude enough to make Kateri cringe, “Whose fool idea was that?”

“Not mine!” Kateri replied with a groan, a sigh, and a roll of her eyes, “I think they’re legit. Wasn’t totally sure earlier, but the more I chew on it, the surer I am, and I’ve got a very bad feeling that it had something to do with a meeting I missed this morning, a meeting that no one told me about until after I’d already gotten to work half an hour after it should have started and my boss was already in a foul mood.”

Billy unleashed another string of curses.

_That someone outside works thinks this situation is as ridiculous as I do … is very gratifying_.

Before more could be said, Kateri saw two familiar face approaching from across the street.

“You’d better be going, Billy, or this’ll get fun right quick. There’s my meet arriving,” Kateri gestured with her chin toward the direction of the street.

Billy patted her shoulder and rose, “Take care of yourself, Kit-Kat. My boys will be watching.”

_Me now or my place while I’m gone?_

_Both?_

Kateri watched the two probable agents from earlier approach, the distance between the three closing slowly. She used the extra time to make sure her temper was well under control. As utterly insane as the situation was, losing her temper was not going to help matters, and losing her temper at those two agents wasn’t appropriate, either, as they probably had no control over the situation and, _considering their surprise earlier_ , had no idea what a catastrophe the earlier meeting would have spawned.

“Agent Wood,” the Black woman greeted her as the two stopped at the bottom of the steps.

“I’m her. And you are …”

_Because I don’t have a clue_.

That got her another puzzled look from both of them as if they expected her to know them. “I’m Sheryll Barnes. This is Clinton Skye. We’re with the Fugitive Task Force. We were told you were expecting us.”

_Told by whom?_

_Still don’t know either of you._

_And most impersonators wouldn’t know enough to come up with the idea of claiming to be FTF._

“I don’t know who told you that, because I don’t know either of you from Adam,” Kateri replied, fighting to reign in her anger and exasperation with the situation. _Not the time to lose your temper_. “And what the h**l were you doing approaching me in Port Morris earlier?”

Agent Barnes and Agent Skye exchanged pointed, puzzled looks, and some sort of silent communique seemed to pass between them. They were obviously familiar with each other, used to reading off each other. _Partners maybe in their unit? At least worked together for a while._

“We requested assistance on a case of ours from your section,” Agent Barnes responded, “And your unit chief, SSA Wilkinson, detailed you to us and said that Port Morris would be a safe place to meet with you.”

_Of course, he bloody did!_

_Sometimes I hate my life and my job and my whole entire bloody unit … not counting Miguel and Zoey._

Kateri pinched the bridge of her noise. She could feel a headache blooming. _I don’t get migraines, but I might just now._ “Of course, he bloody did.” She muttered.

“Excuse me?” Asked Agent Barnes.

_Not used to people swearing about their superiors and unit chiefs while on duty?_

_I should have just stayed in bed._

Kateri’s earlier determination to keep her temper in check flew out the window at that point, as exasperation and resignation cut the already fraying edges of the leash on her temper. “Let me make one bloody thing clear to you both,” Kateri bit out, “SSA Wilkinson has the approximate managerial and organizational abilities of a two-year old. I was never told about this detail, and he also seems to have forgotten the difference between Port Morris and Morris Heights, because approaching me like you did earlier this afternoon … if the wrong people had seen you, the best-case scenario would probably be that my career would be over. The worst-case scenario? Your actions could have gotten me KILLED.”

_More wide eyes?_

_Did the boss tell you nothing about me?_

Before either of them could respond, Kateri kept on going. _Not their fault my boss is an idiot, but they need to understand_. “I do extensive undercover work in New York City and, especially, the Bronx. My face is known. If the wrong people IDed me as a Fed, my career could be over, or I could be dead, and I can assure you it wouldn’t be quick or pleasant.”

“And we apologize for that,” Barnes replied, and Skye nodded. He didn’t seem like the talkative type. “We were only going on what we were told.”

“And I don’t blame you for that,” Kateri replied, _Not your fault my boss is incompetent_ , “And I’m sorry whatever you needed had to wait, but it wasn’t safe to talk there, and I had another meeting with a different contact to go to and had to go back to HQ before I could set up a meet here where it’s safer, and I needed to come back up this way anyway.”

_So I can go home and get ready for Buffalo._

Barnes looked intensely skeptical, “And you think Claremont Park is safer than Port Morris gang-wise?”

_Wilkinson really did tell you absolutely zilch about me_.

Kateri opened her mouth to reply but then noticed Agent Barnes’ eyes were fixed on something behind her. Kateri half-rose off the steps, pivoting back towards the court. _So that was what Billy meant_. Two Crew members, whose face she recognized but whose names she didn’t know, were loitering about fifteen to twenty feet away … probably within hearing distance, watching them.

_Overprotective, you are, Billy._

_Subtle, you are not … sometimes_.

_And more than a few Crew have heard me complain about my boss anyway. Just without names before._

“Oi,” Kateri called, her voice pitched to carry, “Subtlety is an artform worth practicing.”

_Billy, I hope you’re still around_.

There was an explosion of laughter from the direction of the court, and the two watching thugs retired back toward the court, faces somewhere between smirking and shame-faced. Kateri turned back toward Barnes and Skye.

“Sorry about that. Don’t worry about them. They’re not a threat.”

Both agents had their hands on their guns, and their skeptical looks had turned wary and suspicious. Kateri felt a twinge of sympathy. She could imagine the situation would be horrifically strange if their positions were reversed, and no one had given her the run down on who she was meeting.

“Wilkinson really did tell you nothing about me, did he?”

Agent Skye shook his head. “No,” he replied, speaking for the first time. “SSA Wilkinson just said you were his best undercover agent and were the main expert for this region and our situation.”

_The boss actually can say something nice about me?_

_Amazing_.

Kateri sighed heavily yet again and buried her head in her hands for a moment, “I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into this mess, but before you get worried about becoming the latest victims of a gang hit or get concerned that I’ve gone off the deep-end and IA[2] needs to get involved, let me explain a few things. I have an in with the Underground Crew, and Billy Suarez is basically my unofficial CI. You’re safe here.”

The sound of a basketball being dribbled approached, and then Billy declared a few seconds later, “And I don’t kill cops or Feds either unless they come after me. Cop killing is stupid and bad for business.”

Now Kateri really wanted to face palm as both agents tensed … again.

_Really, Billy? Are you sure you outgrew high school?_

_Because winding up the jumpy agents isn’t a good life choice either._

“Thank you for those words of wisdom,” Kateri replied dryly, “Now go away, Billy.” She dragged the syllables of his name out slightly in an age-old show of exasperation.

“Hey,” Billy’s voice was full of fake-affront, “That’s da thanks I get for all I do for ya. I ain’t doing nothin’.”

_And I know you can talk proper unless you’re doing your best stereotypical gangsta impression_.

“Double negative, Billy. You just said you’re doing something,” Kateri replied with a role of her eyes, not even bothering to turn around. It was easy … too easy … to fall back into sibling-like sniping with him.

With a quiet snicker, the dribbling basketball receded, and the three agents were left alone again.

“Sorry about that, too,” Kateri shook her head, “You get used to him after a while.”

_And by a while, I mean a while_.

“I’m guessing you weren’t told about the detail or the case either?” Agent Skye asked.

_Uh, nooooo_

_Wait, detail?_

_Oh, bloody h**l._

_Yea, you did say that earlier_.

“No, Wilkinson did not, but you just said ‘detail.’ Do you need a piece of intel, or do you actually need me for a bit?” Kateri asked, a look of horror passing across her face.

_What about Buffalo?_

“We don’t know for sure. That’s why we wanted assistance, but you were detailed to our team for the length of our case,” Agent Barnes replied.

_Of course, I was_.

_As if my life couldn’t get any more bloody complicated._

Kateri sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “Of course, I was.” _I need so much headache meds_.

_Oh, h**l, what’s one more thing?_

“Problem?” Agent Skye asked. His face was inscrutable now. _You could do undercover work well with a poker face like that, but you’re probably a bit too noticeable in a lot of circumstances … unless you’re playing a bodyguard, in which that would be helpful_.

“Besides the fact that my boss seems to think I can be in two places at once?” Kateri replied wryly, “I’m supposed to leave for Buffalo in the morning. Oh, bloody h**l, I’ll just tell ‘em I’m sick. A little makeup and a few short-nights, not hard to pass for recently sick as a dog.”

The two other agents exchanged looks again.

“The reports are in the car. We can talk on the way,” Agent Barnes added.

_So much for getting to go home_.

_Bloody h**l._

* * *

In the car on the way to … _somewhere_ , Kateri sent a quick message to one of her contacts in Buffalo, a member of the same gang she (under an alias) was returning to, informing that that she was currently as sick as a dog with a bad case of the flu and was going to be delayed getting out to Buffalo. _That’ll give me a few days buffer, at least. I’m known enough they’ll give me some slack, and I can fake recently sick once I get there_.

“So, what’s this case?” Kateri asked, slipping her burner phone back into her pocket.

Agent Barnes, who wasn’t driving, handed back a tablet who a cache of document already pulled up and ready for Kateri’s perusal. “Look through those quickly, and then we can give you the rundown.”

_Since I’m so far behind it isn’t even funny._

_And the FTF doesn’t do cases that aren’t urgent._

“Copy.”

_You don’t get put on the Most Wanted List for being Mr. Nice Guy Incarnate._

Kateri took the tablet and opened the Most Wanted poster first, and her mind ticked off the details into a nice neat list.

  * Name: Eric Blaine Bishop
  * Unlawful Flight to Avoid Prosecution, First Degree Murder (2 counts), Attempted Murder (2 counts), Arms Smuggling, Drug Smuggling, Identity Theft



_Bloody, bloody h**l. He did a bit of everything._

_How’d the Feds end up with the case?_

_Ah, state lines._

  * Description: Age 37, brown hair and eyes, 6 feet, 175 pounds, multiple tattoos



_Just a look at him gives me the creeps._

_Hate to go up against him in a hand-to-hand fight._

  * Occupation: Dock Worker, Hammond Cove



_South Bronx, Castle Hill, whose territory is that?_

  * Armed and extremely dangerous



_Yea, no kiddin’._

Kateri switched documents to a brief about what had led to the whole sorry mess. Hammond Cove, aside from its restaurants, had docks for boats and yachts and was used by everyone from rich-ish people to fisherman bringing in a day’s catch. That meant there was a wide variety of boats at the marina at any point in time, and two nights previously a person working late saw someone suspicious sneaking around near one of the nicer boats. 911 was called, and NYPD sent to investigate. When the suspicious man—Bishop—was confronted, a shootout with police ensued, in which one officer was killed and his partner severely wounded. Bishop fled the scene in a sedan that would have been non-de-script, except for damaged rear bumper. His last known location was entering Jersey.

_Bloody h**l_.

The wounded partner gave a detailed description of Bishop before dying in surgery at the hospital. _Bloody h**l_. Kateri crossed herself quickly. _God rest his soul._ That description was used to identify Bishop from DMV records, but Bishop had no known criminal record. _In New York or anywhere? If he’s a gang thug, could be a new player on the block or a move-in from elsewhere … even way elsewhere._ When the boat around which Bishop had been snooping was investigated, large caches of both drugs and smuggled guns were found inside.

_Bloody complicated and a bloody mess._

_But what’s this got to do with me and Organized Crime?_

_And what exactly do you need me for?_

“So, what exactly do you need from me?” Kateri finally asked.

“Bishop has no gang connections or criminal record, but with the cache of drugs and guns found on that boat, we’re suspicious. See if you can find out anything about Bishop and if anyone’s missing that shipment,” Barnes responded.

_If one gang is now short one honkin’ big shipment of guns and drugs, someone’s going to be very unhappy and that word’s probably going to drift._

“That area of the Bronx isn’t my usual stomping grounds, either,” Kateri responded, “but I can make some calls, see if anyone I know knows something or if I can find someone who knows someone who knows something.”

“That would be helpful.”

Kateri studied the files for another minute, her attention going back to the boat. _No pic. Maybe back at wherever we’re going._ “Who was the boat registered to? Any criminal record.”

“Unknown,” Agent Skye responded, stopping the SUV at a light that suddenly went red. _Hate it when that happens_. “Name and address were both fake. Address was for a vacant lot.”

_Interesting_.

“And the boat, how big was it?” Kateri asked, stopping herself from drumming her fingers. _Most people don’t care for your I’m-thinking tics_.

“We can get you the exact dimensions. I don’t know them off the top of my head,” Agent Barnes responded, turning to look back into the backseat, “How does that help you?”

“I don’t need exact dimensions, though that’s fine. I’m only looking for generalities. Is the boat dingy size? I’m-headin’-fishin’-on-a-lake size? Out-for-some-family-fun size? Tugboat size? I’m-a-billionaire-with-money-to-burn size? And the size can help me guess who we’re dealing with. Not all gang have fist-fulls of cash to burn on a honkin’ boat.”

“Upper mid-range, I’d say,” Agent Skye put in after a minute’s thought.

“Interesting. Thanks.”

* * *

Kateri was taken back to the Fugitive Response Team’s rolling ops center, which looked like someone had smashed together an office, a mobile home, and a tour bus. _And maybe a couple of other things_. It was parked in a large parking lot— _I think we’re in Jersey_ _now_ —surrounded by cop cars, FBI vans, and various and sundry other alphabet soup agency cars.

_Oh, fun, fun. Inter-agency non-cooperation._

_Better them than me._

Inside, Agent Barnes introduced Kateri to the other members of the team:

  * Kenny Crosby, a hulking blonde with muscles a body builder would kill for, whose mannerisms and movements screamed military and whose mood at some points seemed semi-permanently stuck on prickly;
  * Hana Gibson, the resident tech genius and a vivacious midget who talked and moved at a speed as if someone had let her at an espresso machine too many times in quick succession; and
  * Jess LaCroix, the famous or infamous team leader ( _depending on who you ask_ ) who Kateri knew by reputation and who was well-known for his intense temper and what one agent at HQ had termed his ‘voodoo’ profiling skills.



“Pick whatever free seat you want,” said Barnes, “Anything you need? Coffee?”

Kateri glanced around the narrow bus, cataloging where everyone else was sitting. _Glad this bus isn’t smaller, or I’d rather sit outside than in here_. “No coffee, thanks, but if you have some scratch paper, I’d appreciate it.”

A pad of paper came sailing her direction a minute later, courtesy of a decent throw from Agent Crosby. “Catch,” he called.

_Bloody h**l_.

Quick reflexes kicked in, and Kateri with only a little trouble caught the pad out of the air. Torn between taking a seat near the door and a seat where her back wasn’t to multiple people she didn’t know— _you’re getting too paranoid. Not everyone’s as unreliable as your own unit … you know that despite how many times you have to tell yourself that_ —she finally settled for the seat near the door. _Just in case your claustrophobia becomes an issue or if you need to slip out to make a call_.

Kateri sat down at the desk, pulled out her laptop, and pushed her backpack down into the niche by her feet. _Okay, south Bronx, Hammond Cover. I need a map. Who even controls that bloody area? Who do I know down that way?_

Two hours later and multiple feelers later, Kateri had a decent amount of information dug up and a handful of calls she was waiting to hear back on. Some of the information was helpful. Other bits were just (A) confusing, (B) contradictory, or (C) both.

_Depending on whose records I look at, I’m getting 4 different answers for what gang or gangs are the head honchos in that area of the Bronx._

_Seriously?_

_And why did Bishop run to Jersey? If he’s a Bronx thug, aren’t there closer hideouts in the Bronx?_

_Bother this, I’m calling the expert_.

Kateri pulled her burner phone from her pocket and rose from her seat. Dialing a familiar number, she pressed the phone to her ear and stepped outside. The cold nipped at her face as she waited for the call to connect.

_Come on, Billy, pick up_.

“Afternoon, Kit-Kat. What can I do for my favorite Feebie?” Billy greeted her, picking up within three rings.

“Hey, got a minute?” Her voice was level even though she was rolling her eyes physically.

“Anything for you.”

“Thanks, I think,” Kateri’s face twisted for a moment, “I’ve got two questions. One is hopefully simple-ish. The other is a hypothetical question that requires a hypothetical answer regarding a hypothetical situation.”

_One way to avoid some potentially sticky situations if you say something you shouldn’t, only ask hypotheticals_.

“Oooh, I like the sound of this. Ask away.” Billy sounded much too enthusiastic.

_You are entirely to into this_.

“If I say ‘Hammond Cove,’ gang-wise who do you think of?”

“Currently?” Billy asked, “Or in general.”

“In a hypothetical world where a hypothetical ship full of drugs and guns were captured by LEOs, if that ship hypothetically belonged to a gang, who might hypothetically be in a very bad mood right about now? Hypothetically, of course.”

_How many times can I use ‘hypothetically’ in a sentence?_

_A lot!_

“The Warrior Kings,” Billy answered promptly, “They’re a nasty lot. Guns and drugs are their thing. They’re new players. Recently booted out the competition.”

_If you’re saying they’re a nasty lot, that means they’re really bad._

_New players … that’s would probably be why the records contradict each other._

_Turf war, duhhhh. You’re slow on the draw today_.

“Interesting,” Kateri drawled, “And hypothetically would you know if a man named Eric Blaine Bishop is a member of the Warrior Kings?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and Kateri shifted on her feet, stuffing her free hand into her pocket. _Bloody h**l, it’s cold_. “No, but I can check,” Billy replied after a minute. There were murmured voices on the other end of the line as if Billy was talking to someone else and had blocked the microphone with one hand.

“Okay. One last hypothetical. Given the hypotheticals I already posed, if Bishop is a King, any reason why he’d be running for Jersey and not to a Kings’ hideout in the Bronx, which’d be a whole lot closer and where he’d have more help more quickly?”

“That’s an easy question, Kit-Kat,”— _how many times must you use that bloody nickname today?!_ —“for the sake of the hypothetical. Bishop has a vested interest in preserving his own hide and not becoming fish food or the next bog body,” Billy answered in a tone of voice that sounded like he was talking about the weather, _which is disturbing_ , “The Warrior Kings are still consolidating their foothold that a way. Bringing the NYPD and the Feds down on their heads is counterproductive. Some mistakes can be forgiven. Killing a cop in that situation is a mistake you only make once.”

_The callousness of the gangs still manages to amaze me some days_.

“Thanks, Billy. You’re a real help, as usual. Let me know if you hear anything more,” Kateri finished.

“Sure thing.” And with that, Billy hung up.

_Bloody h**l_.

For a few minutes, Kateri stood outside processing the information Billy had given her and slotting it into the mental notes she was making. _It’s almost dinner. I’d better give Agent LaCroix an update when I got in. Anything I’ve got will at least give them something to go on_. Just then her burner phone began to buzz in her hand. _Hopefully someone with an update_.

The call was from one of her contacts, who had a last known address for Bishop.

_Progress_.

Scrubbing her hands across her face— _bloody h**l, I’m tired. You did get like four hours of sleep last night … or was it five? … and it’s been a bloody long day_ —Kateri turned and reentered the bus. There was a low hum of conversation that had started since she left. Agent Gibson and Agent Crosby were discussing food, and Agent Barnes was saying something about gangs and the Bronx to Agent LaCroix. After detouring by her desk long enough to scribble down the address she had just been given and the overview of what Billy and her other contact had said on her scratch paper, Kateri approached Agent LaCroix, who was sitting at a small table at one far end of the bus, and waited for a break in the conversation.

It was interesting meanwhile to just stand and watch and listen to the five Fugitive Task Force agents interact. In many ways, they were the antithesis of her whole unit _except for Miguel and Zoey_. LaCroix talked and acted and gave orders like he was competent and knew what he was doing. He interacted with his subordinates calmly and professionally and quite clearly seemed to respect and get along with all of them, and the others interacted with each other and with their boss in a similar manner.

There was no backbiting, sniping, grumbling _in anything more than jest_ , name-calling, etc., all of which were common occurrences in Kateri’s unit.

They acted like a team should.

_My unit could take a lesson._

_Make that a lot of lessons_.

After a minute, Agent LaCroix turned to her, peering over the tops of his reading glasses in a very professorial fashion that made Kateri wanted to laugh despite her exhaustion, “Update?”

“Yes, sir,” Kateri replied, “I have some information, but some of contacts haven’t gotten back to me yet, and some of what I do have is based on a number of hypotheticals, but …"

_And you might not like some of my sources either. Billy._

_I’m little surprised Agent Barnes and Agent Skye didn’t give their boss an update about me._

_Maybe they were just being polite and not doing it in my hearing. More than I’d ever expect from my teammates. Backbiting each other in each other’s hearing seems to be a favorite pastime some days._

_Maybe that was what Agent Barnes was talking about when I came back in_.

“It’ll be something to go on, a start,” Agent LaCroix replied.

_Fair enough_.

“One of my contacts sent me a last-known for Bishop, an address in the south Bronx. I hadn’t heard anything about you having any other addresses for him besides the fake DMV one …”

Shaking heads confirmed that statement.

“Address?” Asked Agent Gibson.

_On my scratch paper_.

Kateri gestured in the direction of her desk where she had left her notes. The analyst rolled her chair across the aisle so that she could grab the papers, nearly running over Crosby’s toes if his indignant squawk was anything to go by.

“As to Bishop and gang involvement,” Kateri paused and made a face, turning her attention back to her temporary boss, “That’s where I’m having to make a whole lot of hypotheticals. Our database disagrees with the NYPD’s database which disagrees with the DEA’s database which disagrees with ATF’s database regarding gang activity around Hammond Cove. The best I know, a gang called the Warrior Kings currently have the upper hand in that area.”

From behind her, there was the suddenly the sound of low voices.

“And you think Bishop’s one of theirs?” Asked Agent LaCroix, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes briefly.

“If he’s a gang member, I’d say yes. I think it’s a lot less likely that he’s from someone else’s territory and was trying a snatch-and-grab.”

“Go on,” prompted Agent LaCroix.

“Well, one problem I was pondering was why Bishop, assuming he belongs to the Warrior Kings, hightailed it alone out of New York and into Jersey. Yes, he killed a cop, so he must know he’ll be hunted, but there’ve been other police shootings, and the killer doesn’t always hightail from his own gang’s stronghold.” Kateri paused, let that sink in a moment, and then finished, “Wellllll, I think there’s a good chance that you’re not only ones hunting Bishop.”

“The Warrior Kings are cleaning up after themselves,” Agent Barnes, who Kateri had learned through conversation that afternoon had undercover experience with Bronx gangs through the NYPD, caught onto Kateri’s train of thought in an instant.

_Got it in one_.

Kateri nodded, “If you don’t catch him first, well, my contact says he’ll probably be fish food or the next bog body to be dug up in a few decades.”

The next question astounded Kateri, but not for the reason one might expect.

“Bishop making one mistake to many and endangering his gang’s hold on their territory while they’re still consolidating their power and now being on two Most Wanted Lists is a plausible theory, but how sure are you of this information given your source?” Agent Skye asked next.

_Wait, what?_

_I didn’t say that part_.

Kateri’s head jerked up and around to look over at him. He was sitting part way down the bus, and her sheet of notes had made its way into his hands, probably after Agent Gibson got the address off. _I only wrote that part down, and I hadn’t mentioned that part._

_And I don’t write my notes in English._

_You can bloody read Mohawk?_

_How the h**l?_

_Close your mouth. You bloody look like a bloody idiot_.

Tamping down on her surprise and consternation and shoving them away for the moment to be considered later, Kateri nodded, “He hasn’t led me wrong before. Assuming what I ask won’t hurt him, he’s happy to help and take out the competition.”

“Who exactly is your source?” Agent LaCroix asked at that point.

_Oh, bloody h**l._

_Not everybody likes that one of my main ‘CIs’ is a notorious gang boss._

_This’ll be interesting_.

The following explanation was more than a little tense—mostly on Kateri’s part—and a little heated, but it was a far cry from what she had expected and a far cry of what a similar reckoning would have been like upstairs. There was no shouting, no screaming, no name-calling, and some looks of skepticism and disbelief not withstanding— _and not unexpected_ —Agent LaCroix and the others listened calmly to her explanations.

At the end of the briefing, Agents Barnes, Crosby, and Gibson were dispatched off to the last known address for Bishop, leaving the others in the bus.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kateri approached Agent Skye. It took her a moment to mentally shift herself out of English back into her native language. There hadn’t been exactly many opportunities to speak Mohawk in years, and while she could write or read it in pretty well, _my pronunciation is probably a little cringe-worthy, and maybe my spelling_. _And if my spelling’s off, I still know what I mean._

“You speak Mohawk?” Kateri asked quietly, leaning against the wall next to his desk.

He had looked up as she approached. “Yes,” he replied … in the same language, “I’m Kahnawake. You?”

_Bloody h**l, didn’t expect to find another from my own tribe in the FBI_.

Kateri smiled, a genuine open smile that lit up her eyes, “The same.”

And that was how a life-long friendship got its first tiny roots, not that she knew it then.

* * *

Little more progress was made the rest of that evening, and the investigation took three more days after that before Bishop was found at the far end of Jersey. (For Kateri, though it was at times frustrating to have to work with others and not on our own, those days passed with a lot less angst and many fewer wishes for headache meds or antacids than a similar-length case with her own unit would have.) Bishop was alive, but not for long. The Warrior Kings had not caught up with their erstwhile thug, who was not yet fish food or a bog body, but Bishop was not interested in being captured and risking the consequences thereof— _the long arm of his former buddies and probably a not-so-pleasant and slow death_. In the ensuing assault on his hideout, Bishop was killed, probably by suicide by cop.

It was late in the evening when the case was finished, and the next morning Kateri left for Buffalo bright and early. She had plead a case of the flu as her delay to her contact there, and after a very long week and not enough sleep for several day on the end, it did not take that much makeup for her to look exhausted and recently ill.

* * *

Three weeks later, an exhausted Kateri climbed off the bus that had taken her from upper Manhattan back to the Bronx. Ten hours and three buses after leaving Buffalo, she was almost home. Just a couple blocks to walk, and she’d be home. It was 7:45pm on a very chilly evening, and Kateri was ready to collapse into bed and not emerge for a long time.

The tiredness faded in a rush of surprise and adrenaline when she reached her street and saw the figure sitting on the steps of her house apparently waiting for her. It was Agent LaCroix, her temporary boss— _and much better boss than Wilkinson could ever hope to be_ —from her short detail to the Fugitive Task Force the previous month.

_And how the h**l did you know I was getting back now?_

“Agent LaCroix, this is a surprise, sir,” Kateri greeted him, as he rose off the stoop to meet her, “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” The older man asked.

_Okay._

_Definitely a surprise._

_But sure_.

_Bed, I’ll get to you eventually._

“Yes, of course,” Kateri replied, keeping her slight sigh internal, “I’d invite you in out of the cold, but my landlady’s not a fan of strange men in the house.”

Agent LaCroix chuckled, “That’s fine. It’s not that bad,”— _True, a lot warmer than Buffalo_ —“How’s was your case in Buffalo?”

“Successful, but now thankfully over. What can I help you with?” Kateri asked as she took a seat on the stoop beside him.

_Please let it be quick, because I want to go to bed_. Wilkinson, Kateri would have made time for because she had no other choice. LaCroix, she made time for because she actually respected him.

“How has your unit not been disbanded yet?”

Kateri’s eyes went wide at the unexpected question, but Agent LaCroix was still continuing, “After your comments to Clinton and Barnes, I decided to look into your old unit. Your unit and you especially has an extremely high success rate for closing cases, but you’ve been passed over for promotions multiple times and commendations twice.”

_Trying to raise a ruckus about internal problems isn’t the quickest route to job advancement_.

_Being female and not white doesn’t exactly help either. Got compared to a shrill harpy once._

“And then I found your complaints against your unit chief among others, also buried. Your unit’s computer technicians were more than happy to tell me a number of things.”

_I bloody well am sure they were._

_You probably got an earful_.

“According to them, your boss expects miracles and basically treats you like a glorified CI. If something goes wrong, it’s your fault whether it is or not.”

_Yep, you definitely got an earful_.

Kateri sighed and shrugged, “Why have we not get disbanded? A couple of reasons. We’re a bunch of misfits who got shoved together by one of the higher-ups after we didn’t mesh with other teams. Despite that, because some of us have done a whole lot of grunt work, we get results. Yes, Wilkinson is an incompetent leader who expects miracles without usually giving enough support to work said miracles, but he’s a white man from an old family with money. He has connections, and that means we get negotiating paper, and thus pencil pushers are very unlikely to fire him or simply promote him out of the way.”

Kateri paused and made a face, “I think that’s what got us into this mess in the first place, but whatever. My partner’s an infuriating, pompous, big-mouth git, but he’s very good at his job. He sees patterns and connections that others don’t see in a huge pile of data. I can’t always see what he sees, and that makes him useful despite the fact that he’s horrible with people and basically useless at undercover. Schmidt, our senior field agent, he’s a decent guy. He just got promoted beyond his capabilities, which makes him also next to useless, and he’s too easily influenced by my partner and by Watson … he’s our other field agent … who I really think IA needs to investigate, but I’ve been ignored on that, too, more than once … but … uh, as to your question, somehow we kinda get results, and despite the questionable methods of some of my teammates, which I can’t always stop however much I try, most of our cases make it through the courts without getting thrown out by our own prosecutors.”

_Bloody h**l, you talk a lot when you’re tired_.

_You’re rambling._

There was silence for a long minute.

_You’ve probably talked more tonight than you did in the past couple of days or week_.

_Are you regretting you asked, Agent LaCroix?_

“How would you like a new job?” LaCroix finally asked.

_Wait what?_

Kateri choked on the mouthful of warm water she’d just drunk from the bottle that she had forgotten up until a minute before had been in her backpack at all. “Seriously?”

Jess LaCroix did not look like the type of man to joke around, judging by the look on his face, and he just nodded simply.

“Then, bloody h**l, yes, because quitting and shaking the dust off my feet has been sounding more and more desirable lately.” 

* * *

[1] The layout is basically copied from the BAU’s floor in _Criminal Minds_.

[2] Internal Affairs.


End file.
